It Wasn't Her?

Her lips twitched slightly, and then she stood up abruptly. "You play with Angel for a bit. I'll make something delicious for you!" After saying this, she took off her coat, changed her clothes, and walked into the kitchen.

I sat beside my daughter, distracted, staring at the large screen and wondering if I was barking up the wrong tree.

Suddenly, her phone rang. My ears perked up immediately, suspecting the call might be from George. I moved to the sofa closest to the kitchen. I could hear Monica speaking softly on the phone, a stark contrast to her usual rough tone with me — it was gentle and delicate, but I couldn't make out what she was saying.

Feeling incredibly anxious, I stood up and walked towards the kitchen, but just as I approached, I saw Monica hang up the phone and slip it into her apron pocket.

She looked at me, surprised. "Go keep Angel company! Today is your day; I'm at your service. Just sit back and relax until the food is ready."

I forced a smile but didn't leave. Instead, I leaned against the kitchen doorway. "Did you buy this house yourself?"

"I wish! I don't have that kind of money... it's provided by my company!" she replied with a laugh.

"Your company really treats its staff well. It's rare these days for companies to provide housing!" My comment was loaded, thinking perhaps it was George who arranged the apartment for her.

Suddenly, a troubling thought struck me, and I felt an urge to check the bank card I shared with George.

"I'm just taking advantage of the benefits meant for our artists!" Monica said as she cleaned some crabs. "Several of our company's artists live in this complex. The security and management here are top-notch, ensuring no disturbances and a degree of privacy, which is crucial for celebrities, as you know."

"Ordinary people's privacy is just as important! Mistresses also fear exposure!" I retorted sharply.

"You're right, such people do exist here!" Monica responded calmly. "But sometimes, those who are exposed aren't always the mistresses. It all depends on the individual's capabilities."

Capabilities?

I scoffed internally, thinking about how bold and upfront some mistresses could be nowadays. I didn't know how to respond or even if I wanted to. I turned and left the kitchen, glancing at the shoe cabinet where her bag with the keys was placed.

I went to my own bag and pulled out the compartment keys, looking back at the kitchen door and hearing the busy clinks and clangs inside. I pretended to casually walk up to the door.

After one last look at the kitchen, I reached for her bag, quickly found the bunch of keys, and searched for the one Monica had used to open the door earlier.

Whether it was nerves or fear of discovering the truth, my hands trembled as I compared the two keys side by side. My eyes widened in disbelief at what I saw, a strange sensation creeping up on me as I slowly turned around...

I was shocked. The keys I held side by side didn't match at all. I doubted myself, wondering how this could be. Had I wronged Monica? Was the woman not her, or was there another mystery to George's keys?

This unexpected result left me bewildered, unsure whether to feel relieved or frustrated.

My mind went blank, this inexplicable closeness made me suddenly turn around, and I jumped in fright — Monica was standing right behind me, looking at me calmly.

"Did you find your answer?" she asked in a smooth tone, like a strategist overseeing the entire situation.

My lips quivered as I looked at Monica, feeling perplexed and quite embarrassed about being caught. I straightened up and met her gaze defiantly, resolving to confront this once and for all, my eyes fierce. "Monica, what exactly are you trying to say? Why are you deceiving me? What is your real relationship with George?"

Her composure caught me off guard, fueling my anger and embarrassment.